Malibu Dreams
by originella
Summary: Leticia "Lacey" Spencer is an seventeen-year-old high school senior who has just returned to Malibu with her widowed diplomat father, after living in France for six years, to start at Pacific Coast Academy. She becomes roommates and friends with Lola Martinez, and both discover their passion for acting for the stage and screen. What adventures await these two would-be actresses?
1. Lacey Arrives at PCA

Chapter One: Lacey Arrives at PCA

"Dad, you really don't have to worry about all this," I assured my father, on what must've been the thirtieth time as I drove along Pacific Coast Highway. "I know it was your alma mater... I know that very well."

"I know you know, sweetheart," my father replies on the Bluetooth. "And you would have gone to the school when you were thirteen—that's when they first allowed girls there. But with us in France..."

"Dad, you don't have to explain your job to me," I told him gently. "I understand you're being a diplomat was very important. Besides, now I can cook, and I speak French fluently. And I'm going to PCA for my senior year. I don't see a problem with how the timeline lined up."

He chuckles over the phone. "I just wish I didn't have to jet off to Tokyo," he says, disappointment in his voice. "And then there's Beijing and Berlin and I don't know if I'll be back before Christmas." He sighs. "If only your mom was still here, I know that things would be easier..."

"Dad, don't," I say. "I don't want to lose control of the car. It's Friday morning and I start my senior year on Monday."

"Sorry, honey," he says quickly. "How far out are you?"

"I should be at the school in twenty minutes," I reply. "Malibu isn't that far from the highway, but I'm sure you know that."

"I was born in California, you know, sweetheart," he says. "I'm going to miss you Leticia, I hope you know that."

"Thanks, Dad," I reply. "I'm going to miss you, too. But I should probably get off the phone and focus on my driving."

"Of course," he replies, laid-back as usual. "But you have your room assignment and key and map to the school?"

"Yes, Dad."

"And you remembered to pack all your books?"

"Yes, Dad."

"And the written waver to go home on the weekends?"

"Yes, Dad."

"And the parking permit for your car?"

I smile at the fine leather interior of the sweet, convertible ride; it was a 2009 red convertible Chrysler Sebring, and it had barely made a dent in my father's immense wealth. I hadn't even asked for it—it had just shown up in our garage with that oversized ribbon you see in all the movies. It was my baby, and I'd gotten it for my last birthday—a late present, but still—just a week before; it had replaced my silver _2007 Mazda MX_ - _5_ Miata. "Yes, Dad—I've got it all, don't worry. Parking permit—one copy on my mirror, the second faxed over to Dean Rivers this morning."

"You didn't forget your laptop?"

"You mean my brand-new Pear one?" I ask him, laughing. "No, Dad. I wouldn't forget that—I'm sure I have some essays coming up."

"Just tell me one more time, because I forgot—what room did they put you in? I want to make sure your care packages come to the right place."

"You mean the ones Stephanie will send me? Dad, she's been your secretary since I was fourteen. I think she knows how to get in touch with me by phone or email if she has any questions."

"Just tell me, sweetheart. Please."

"Room 101," I reply. "Is that all?"

"Yes, that's all. I love you, Leticia."

"I love you, too, Dad," I reply, hanging up.

I arrived on campus at the projected twenty-minute mark and pulled into my assigned parking lot. I found my space and drove into it, before pressing the button for my convertible top to go up. I hopped out of my car and reached in the back for my backpack—which held a few outfits and my toiletries—and my laptop case before I opened the trunk to get my roller suitcase and my duffel bag. I locked up my car then and made my way towards the many buildings, using my new PCA Map app for further instructions.

It directed me through the quad and onwards, where a large sign read FULTON HALL, my destination. I headed inside, onto the first floor, and walked all the way down the main hall before seeing my dorm room number. It had a white board on it, but was free of any ink or words or pictures as I unlocked the door and stepped inside. There were two single beds there, and one girl was organizing something by the single bed closest to the door.

"Hi," I said, setting down my things. "You must be my roommate."

The girl turned around and promptly smiled at me. "Hi!" she called, clearly happy to have someone to talk to. "I'm Lola Martinez," she said, putting out her hand. "I am so happy you're here."

I return her smile. "Leticia Spencer," I reply, shaking her hand.

"Awesome name!" Lola comments.

I shrug. "No need to call me that—it's what my dad calls me. It was my grandma's dying wish that I be named that." I let out a small laugh and shrug. "She wasn't a very nice person."

"Sorry to hear that," Lola replies. "My grandmother was a bit high and mighty herself, so I can relate. So, what should I call you?"

"Oh, call me Lacey, please," I say. I pick up my things as Lola resumes organizing her various belongings. "Do you mind if I take this other bed?"

"Unless you want to sleep on the floor," Lola joked.

"I thought you were supposed to have two roommates," I reply. "Not that I'm complaining—you seem really nice."

Lola smiles. "Well, that was policy, but then too many students complained to their big doner parents about overcrowding, so they changed it to two roommates per one room."

"I'm sorry if I got your other roommate kicked out."

She shakes her head. "You didn't. She and her boyfriend moved into a condo with another couple close by."

"You can live off campus?" I demand.

"Yeah, but only if you're less than two miles from the school," Lola explains, and I am tempted to roll my eyes at the practicality of this rule. "If you're under seventeen, you have to live with a parent or guardian. If you're eighteen, you can live wherever you want, but the two-mile radius rule still applies to you."

I nod. "Oh, I see—the big one-eight magic number," I say sarcastically.

Lola grins. "'Fraid so."

I smirk, going into my duffel bag for my bedding. "I live three point four miles from here, but I'm seventeen. I don't turn eighteen until the end of the month, unfortunately..."

"Looks like you just missed the cutoff," Lola says, trying to get a poster to stay in place. "Do you live by yourself?"

"Mostly, because of my dad's job."

"What does he do? Your dad?"

"What doesn't he do?" I reply, shaking out my sheet. "My dad's a diplomat so he travels all over the world. He didn't start leaving me alone for long periods until I was sixteen."

"Did he and your mom divorce, then?" Lola asks, as I haven't mentioned her, as she seems finally satisfied with the way the poster was hanging.

"No, they didn't divorce," I reply, tucking a corner into the mattress. "She passed away when I was twelve-years-old."

Lola promptly turns around and stares at me; I can tell because of her last name and coloring that she must have some Puerto Rican in her. Her eyes are large and dark and full of sympathy as she lets out a small sigh. "I'm sorry, Lacey," she tells me quickly. "That really does suck."

I smile at her. "Hey, it is what it is," I reply, finishing with my sheet. "I think my dad and his secretary have a thing for each other, so that's something. She's been working with him, and us, since I was fourteen."

"You like her?" Lola asks.

I sigh. "I like that she makes my dad happy," I tell her. "She seems nice enough—kind of mousy, but nice. We have these extensive background checks on everyone who encounter us, so it's not like we'd ever willingly get someone bad or criminal into our circle."

"Did your dad have one done on me?" Lola asks.

Promptly, I shake my head. "No. He and Dean Rivers are old friends."

"So...?" Lola asks.

"So, he trusts Dean Rivers' judgement," I reply. "If Dean Rivers accepted you into PCA, then that's good enough for him."

Lola sighs, relief apparently flowing through her. "Cool."

I proceed to put on the top layer sheet onto my bed. "So, tell me, Lola, what were your former roommates like?"

"Well, they actually moved in with their boyfriends off campus," Lola tells me, as she hangs a picture of flowers in the corner. "Zoey had to have been my best friend in the world—she's amazing, and totally into fashion. There was this guy, Chase, that was into her forever, when they were in the eighth grade—I didn't start here until freshman year—and he followed her to London where she started at a boarding school there."

I raise my eyebrows, briefly looking up at Lola. "That's commitment and a big wad of cash right there," I say.

Lola laughs. "Yeah," she says, getting out her comforter from her bag. "So, Chase follows Zoey to London, but Zoey had heard via webcam that Chase was in love with her, so she came back to tell him how she felt."

"But he was already in London?"

Lola nods. "Exactly!" she cries, her hair bouncing ever so slightly in her eagerness to tell me the story about her best friend. "So, they couldn't be together, and Zoey started dating this guy named James, who moved into Chase's old room. Then Zoey and James broke up right before prom, and Zoey knew that the reason why she broke up with James was because she loved Chase the whole time. But Zoey didn't count on Chase randomly showing up after a year for prom and then he and Zoey got together."

"After three years?"

Lola nodded. "Yeah. Three years."

"And what about your other roommate?" I ask her, finishing with my upper sheet and moving on to my comforter.

"That would be Quinn Pensky," Lola replied. "She's really into science and was one of the smartest people I know—and the weirdest. She started dating the narcissistic and resident heartthrob of PCA, Logan Reese."

I nearly drop my comforter in my shock at Lola mentioning that name. "He wouldn't happen to be Malcolm Reese's son, would he?"

Lola nods. "Yeah."

"Oh, my god," I say, rolling my eyes, managing to get a better grip upon my comforter and proceeding to straighten it out. "Malcolm Reese, Dean Rivers, and my dad were all roommates in college. Let's just say that if anything ever happened to my dad..."

Lola's eyes widened. "What?"

I sighed. "Malcolm Reese is named as my legal guardian on my father's will. Of course, he needs to update it now that I'm almost eighteen, but still..."

"So, you know Logan?"

"Know Logan?" I say, snickering. "Before PCA welcomed girls, I lived at home with my dad and went to Delphi Academy of Santa Monica. Logan would always brag about his all-boys school. After graduating fifth grade, I moved to France with my dad while he was on assignment, and learned French and how to cook, all while going to middle school. I graduated and continued my education at Lycée Fénelon in Paris and then my dad finished his assignment six weeks before my school ended." I shrug then, feeling uncomfortable at monologuing in front of a virtual stranger. "Then, we came here, and my dad enrolled me at PCA and things went back to normal for the summer."

"Is your dad home?" Lola asked.

"No," I reply, straightening what's left to be fixed of my comforter, just looking to prolong the inevitable, actually. "He had to go to Tokyo this morning," I say as I begin putting my pillows into their correct cases and smacking them into shape. "Then he goes to Beijing and to Berlin and just said he might not be back for Christmas."

"Whoa," Lola whispers.

I turn around, just as I've gotten what's last of my pillows in place. "What?" I ask her, seeing her face glued to her phone.

"You said he was a diplomat?"

I nod. "Yeah—Isaac Spencer. Why?"

Lola immediately looked up at me, grinning in excitement. "He's, like, loaded!" she cried. "A personal ambassador to our country, and a friend Barack Obama..." She looks up. "You going to vote for him?"

I nodded. "Yeah. You?"

"Yeah," she replies. "But diplomats make an insane amount of money..."

I shrug; it didn't really matter to me—I'd grown up this way, so the fact that I was used to it didn't even seem to cover the half of it. "Yeah, I guess so," I reply, leaning up against the base board of my bed. "I mean, we do have a waterfront house on Malibu..."

"Sicker than Logan's?" she asks.

I laughed at her. "I think so. I mean, he's so full of it, it just makes him less attractive as a person, you know?"

"I'm so glad I'm not the only one who doesn't like Logan—personality-wise, anyway," says a voice from the doorway. My eyes snap to the voice, and I see that it comes from a girl who seems to have a fashionista written all over her; she had below-the-shoulder length dark blonde hair with black highlights, and big brown eyes.

"Zoey!" Lola squeals, immediately ceasing her work and dancing across the room, throwing her arms around our visitor.

"Hey, Lola!" Zoey says happily. "Quinn was working on an experiment and Chase and Logan went to meet up with Michael for some guy time, so I thought I'd swing by here and see what was happening." Zoey and Lola stop hugging after a moment and she turns to me. "You must be Lola's new roomie," she says, walking over to me and putting out her hand. "Zoey Brooks," she says. "Nice to meet you."

I find I actually _love_ her outfit, and I was never a clothes person. Today, Zoey sported a jean mini-skirt, paired with a pink camisole, white zip-up hoodie sweater, and white, open-toed sandal wedges with a two-inch heel. "Hi, I'm Lacey Spencer," I reply, shaking her hand. "Good to meet you, too. I was actually just telling Lola that Malcolm Reese was, at one time, my legal guardian."

"At one time?" Zoey asks, looking from me to Lola and back again. "Why isn't he anymore? Did he piss your dad off or something?"

I laugh at that. "No, I'm almost eighteen," I reply. "But, compared with moving back here from France, things got sort of lost in translation..."

Zoey looked concerned. "Did you have a party before you left?"

I shake my head, shrugging at her. "Not really—all my friends still live in Paris. Sure, my dad could have called and asked them to come, but I didn't want to inconvenience anyone. I did get a new car, though."

"Wait. Not that beautiful red number in the parking lot with a convertible top?" she asks in a rush, immediately reaching out and gripping my hands in glee. "The Chrysler Sebring?" she says, obviously very excited.

I nod, laughing at her excitement—I'd never seen anyone so hyped up about a car before. "Yeah, that's the one."

"I should've guessed," she says, tossing her hair and not letting go of my hands in her excitement in this line of conversation. "The personalized name plate is adorable—I loved it."

"What is it?" Lola asked.

"Oh," I said when Zoey looked at me to answer, which I thought was sweet, although my cheeks heated when I said it out loud. "It says BBY GRL," I reply. "My dad customized it," I say, hunching my shoulders ever so slightly. "Plus, that's what it says right here," I say, rolling up the sleeve of my own hooded sweater and revealing my wrist. "My dad said that once I hit eighteen, I could get one—but with my last report card being what it was, he changed his mind and let me get one earlier than we expected. He picked the designer, though, but I could get any color ink and any phrase I wanted—just no profanity," I explain.

"Sounds reasonable," Lola says, peering at the words. "Are you an artist?"

I smiled at that—finally, something interesting. "While I bear great respect for people who can do stuff like this, I don't have the patience. I'm not talented that way..."

"How are you talented?" Zoey asks.

I smile. "I can act and sing," I reply.

"What?!" Lola cried out happily.

I nodded. "Yeah, I mean, I finally found something I'm good at. And I got dance lessons from the time I was a child. I just came back last week from double auditions at Julliard and NYU for next year and... Well, fingers crossed," I say.

"Of course! Fingers crossed!" Lola said.

"Lola's an actress, too," Zoey puts in, turning to look at Lola. "And anyone who's anyone is signing up for the Senior Tuneful."

My eyebrows knit together at that. "Senior Tuneful?" I ask them both. "What does that mean?" I want to know.

"It's our musical," Lola replies. "Anyone can go see it, but only seniors are eligible to be in the cast. There's a whole secret ritual about casting that everyone gossips about, but nobody knows what it is."

"When are the auditions?" I want to know.

"They send you the email before midnight tonight," Zoey says.

"Yeah, anyone who has acting credentials and is signed up for an acting course on campus gets the automatic E-Vite," Lola explains in a patient manner to me. "You're all signed up, aren't you?" she wants to know.

"Yeah," I reply. "Calculus, Physics, U.S. Government, Film Production, Business Law, Works of Shakespeare, AP Drama, and AP Latin," I reply.

"We have math, science, government, and drama together," Zoey says.

"I have every class with you," Lola says, immediately clapping her hands. "Looks like we'll be worthy adversaries to one another."

It is a brief shock for us all when our phones all buzz at the exact same time and we immediately take them out of our respective pockets. I head on over to the email icon and click it, waiting for the page to load. When it does, I see I have an email from PCA Drama Club, with the subject line Senior Tuneful. It reads...

 _Dear Miss Spencer,_

 _Hello and welcome to a new year at Pacific Coast Academy!_

 _If you are a new student, profound congratulations on being accepted onto the AP Drama team. Your audition was accepted as of two weeks ago, either in person or by video, and you should have received an email confirmation of your acceptance into the class._

 _Since you've been accepted into AP Drama, you must have a strong acting resume to back you up, which was of course used in your consideration for being added to the class. As such, you have been formally invited to audition for the annual Senior Tuneful!_

 _Round one of auditions will take place in the PCA Theatre on Saturday afternoon and all who receive this email are welcome to participate. The auditions will be held from 9:00 a.m. until 3:00 p.m. We will have a half an hour break from 12:00 p.m. until 12:30 p.m. for lunch._

 _From 9:00 a.m. until 12:00 p.m., we will see people individually and those of you who have passed that first round will be asked to do a duo, trio, or other form of group scene from 12:30 p.m. until 3:00 p.m. As soon as you and your partner or group have performed the scene, you are permitted to leave, but are encouraged to stay, as the clue for the second rehearsal will be given at the end of all the group auditions. However, if you don't have time, an email will be sent out afterwards confirming the second audition time, if you've made it that far._

 _We thank you very much for getting into AP Drama! If you would like to reserve an audition spot—and we encourage that you do—simply reply with your first name, last name, age, room number and dorm name, your favorite playwright, and why you think you should be given the opportunity to audition._

 _Thank you very much!_

 _Sincerely,_

 _Barry Andrews, AP Drama professor_

 _and_

 _Joan Mayhew, AP Drama Chair_

I quickly write my reply. Leticia Spencer; 18; 101, Fulton Hall; Tennessee Williams; and, as for the reason to be in this play, I opt for honesty. I say how much I love acting and even quote the great Laurence Olivier for inspiration. As he said, 'Without acting, I cannot breathe', and firmly state my opinion on the matter, as well as my passion about the subject itself.

"I guess you got the email, too?" I ask, looking up and finding that Lola and Zoey have just finished writing their replies.

"Yeah," Zoey says with a smile. "These auditions sound really fun. I can't wait to try real hard to get a part."

"Good thing they have your resumes constantly on file," Lola puts in, turning back to me. "If you ever have an update to your resume, all you have to do is send them a fresh copy and they'll add it to your file."

"Thanks for the tip," I reply.

"So, where are you from, Lacey?" Zoey asks.

"Originally?" I ask her, smiling at discussing something normal. "Malibu. I was born here but moved to France when I was eleven."

"Can you speak French?"

I nod. "Yeah—it's my second language. I can also speak Spanish and I learned Italian one summer when my dad had an assignment in Rome."

"So, why are you taking Latin?" Lola asks, curious, staring at me askance. "If you have the required documentation stating that you've taken two or three years of a foreign language, you don't have to take another one."

"Lola's right," Zoey says. "Two years is the minimum, three is the maximum. And you're taking AP Latin..."

"I know," I reply. "I took a first-year Latin course to get on board with some of the plays by Shakespeare," I explain. "But, I did so well that my instructor in France wrote to the PCA professor of Latin, Dominique Cordero, and I got a spot."

"That's really amazing," Zoey says.

"Thanks," I reply, not wanting to sound too fully of myself as I discuss my education. "I guess that the one positive thing about my dad working so much is that I've been able to see and learn about so many different cultures through the years. I mean in addition to learning languages, I've managed to help in so many charity projects. Last summer, I went to Africa to help with the orphans in need of schools. I helped build a school in Somalia for the entire summer."

"That's unbelievable!" Lola cried, amazed. "All I did last summer was tutor a bunch of stupid kids... Zoey had a cool summer, though."

"Yeah," Zoey said, smiling. "I was a cabana girl at this really expensive resort hotel and I brought my boyfriend, Chase, with me," Zoey replies.

"Oh, Lola told me _all_ about Chase," I inform her. "I'm so happy you guys finally got together after so long."

Zoey smiles, her eyes appearing dreamy for a moment. "Well, let's just say that I predicted it in this whole time capsule project we did..."

"Time capsule project?" I asked.

She shook her head. "Forget it—it's not important. I said I'd tell Chase what I said in ten years, even though it'll be buried for twenty. So, there's eight more years on the clock. Not that I don't trust either of you, but I think that Chase should be the first to know, you know?"

Lola nods. "Totally."

"I can understand that," I reply.

"So, what about you?" Zoey wants to know, grinning at me. "Did you leave behind a guy in France or something?"

I blink. "A guy in France?"

"You know," Lola says.

"Like a boyfriend or something," Zoey says.

I shake my head, ending on a disbelieving laugh. "No, I mean, not really. I went out with a couple of guys, but it never went anywhere. Maybe French guys aren't really my thing. They constantly told me I was pronouncing their language wrong, so I got a French tutor, and nobody asked me out again. Go figure..."

"Boys can be so stupid," Lola said, shaking her head.

"This coming from the girl who is dating _the_ Vince Blake," Zoey puts in. "He was kind of a jerk at first, but after he was suspended and stuff, and when he came back, he was a better person. He bought us Gummy Bears," Zoey tells me.

"Sounds like a real charmer," I say.

"He is," Lola says. "We've been going out for almost a year."

"You two seem to have this whole PCA thing figured out," I say. "I mean, it sounds like you don't have any enemies."

"Zoey had one," Lola assures me.

"You did?" I ask.

Zoey nods at that. "Yeah, I did, actually. Chase brought back this girl at the beginning of junior year who was starting here. Their moms were co-workers or something. Anyhow, on the day we all got back, Lola and Quinn tried to tell me that Chase was in love with me, but I totally didn't get it and was shocked. So, I went to Chase's dorm and found him making out with Rebecca and he may have introduced her as his girlfriend..."

"May have?" I ask.

Lola crossed her arms. "He did."

"Awkward much?" I say.

"Tell me about it," Zoey says, rolling her eyes at the memory. "So, I brushed off the shock and tried not to think about Chase being with someone else. To be honest with you, I was hiding my jealousy the whole time. I pretended to everyone that I wasn't royally cheesed off when Rebecca came and told me point blank to stay away from Chase. I was afraid he was going to pick Rebecca over me, but he broke up with her. All I thought of when I was hurling grapes at him was focusing on the strength of my arm, and wondering if he would see my fruit assault as a clue-in that I had feelings for him..."

"Fruit assault?" Lola asks, making a face.

"Anyhow," Zoey says, "I didn't say anything after that because I was convinced that Chase was over me because he dated Rebecca. And then when he broke up with her, I just figured it was because she was being controlling. So, I dropped the whole thing and then when I heard him fighting about me leaving with Logan and Michael, I guess everything just snapped. I flew home on the first flight I could get, but he was already gone. And then James started here, and I'd heard a rumor that Chase was dating my former roommate, Tabitha, so I just decided to forget about it and went out with James..."

"But?" I ask.

"But then he told me that he loved me, and I couldn't say it back," Zoey replied, shrugging her shoulders, her brown eyes filled with regret. "Of course, I couldn't—I couldn't because it hit me then that I still loved Chase."

"And then Chase surprised her on prom night," Lola says. "Of course, I had to tell Vince that I, as the prom organizer, had to arrive fashionably late. He picked our favorite restaurant to go to beforehand, but then our taxi driver went crazy and just left us in the middle of the road. Vince found a guitar in some bushes with a rodent inside it and then we just walked through the woods for almost an hour to get back to campus. Let me tell you—heels and dark and scary forests don't really mix."

"Sounds like I missed a lot," I say, rolling on the balls of my feet. "Sounds like we could've had a lot of fun, had I started here at thirteen when PCA opened its doors to girls."

Zoey smiles. "Hey, we've got nine months. We've got plenty of time to make some new adventures, all of us." She checks her watch then and smiles. "And its lunchtime already!" she says, looking up. "Should we go get some lunch?"

"Sushi Rox?" Lola asks.

Zoey sighs. "Can't go."

"Why?" Lola asks, hurt.

"Well, because Kazu sold the place," she replies. "They opened a pizza and pasta place over there called Zanaro's Trattoria."

"How do the restaurants work?" I ask Zoey.

"You know your ID badge?" she asks.

I nod, going to my purse and retrieving it. "Yeah."

"Here, let me," she says, taking my lanyard and putting it over my head. "Make sure you have it on you at all times, and your regular ID. If you look on the back, there's a barcode and a colored circular sticker. The red means you just get school meals; the blue means you get school meals and a few trips off campus; the yellow means you get school meals, a few trips off campus and one restaurant meal per month; and green means unlimited everything."

Turning over my badge, I see a green sticker. "Great!" I say. "Now what?"

"Come over here," Lola says, and walks over to her open laptop on her desk. "It's a touch screen," she explains, logging out of something. "All you have to do is scan it against this box here, and your account will pop up."

I scan it, and immediately see that it's all connected to my credit card and feel relieved that my father put in a couple thousand every month for living and food expenses, as well as a few treats here and there. "Oh!" I cry out, immediately pleased. "So, I just go to any restaurant I want, and they'll scan it, and I don't have to handle money?"

"That's right," Zoey says. She peers at my lanyard. "You know, I could fix that for you, if you want. Kind of boring..."

"She fixed mine," Lola says, showing off her lanyard, all done up in beautiful, glass beads. "This way, it's pretty, a fashion piece, and you can still see the PCA logo underneath it."

"I have some beads in my bag," Zoey says. "If you like, I can work on it during lunch while we're waiting for our food."

"I could pay you—I mean, I should pay you," I say, admiring the intricate work she's done on Lola's piece. "I mean, it's so beautiful. Anyone who's anyone should be paying for something as awesome as what you can do with lanyards."

Zoey laughs at that, shaking her head. "Come on, Lacey—you're my friend. I wouldn't ask you to pay me."

I smile. "All right," I say as Lola and I follow her out into the hall. "If you're sure," I say as Lola locks the door behind us.

"So sure," Zoey assures me.

We walk down the hall and exit the building, crossing the quad and a coffee cart, and making our way towards what appears to be a restaurant. It is a lovely place, with classic and gorgeous Sicilian architecture, which sets me at ease as we walk along. Just as we're about to head inside, a quick set of footsteps happens behind us.

"Hey, Zo!" says a voice.

"Dustin! There you are!" Zoey says.

"Hey, hey, not cool!" he says, stepping away from her. "I'm in high school now, Zo. I can't have you hugging me—it's uncool."

"Sorry, sorry," Zoey says.

The Dustin kid turns and grins at Lola. "Hey, Lola," he says, but his eyes widen when he gets a good look at me. "Hey. I'm Dustin Brooks."

"Ah. A brother," I say to Zoey. "Nice to meet you."

"Younger brother," Zoey puts in.

I nod. "I can see that," I reply. "I'm Lacey. Nice to meet you, Dustin."

Dustin clearly sees that I'm not interested and looks disappointed for a moment before turning back to his sister. "Chase has been trying to call you."

"Call me?" Zoey asks, whipping out her phone. "Wow... Three missed calls," she says, shaking her head and turning back to us. "If you two want to get a table inside..."

"No," Lola says.

I shake my head. "It's cool—we can wait."

Zoey smiles and presses the green phone icon. "Chase," she says after a moment, obviously not convinced that it's a real emergency. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow your roll there. Logan did what while you were _what_?!" she demands, her voice hinging somewhere between anger and complete rage. "So, let me get this straight-you were all jet skiing, and not one of you thought to keep your phones _on the beach_?! Yes, I know insurance will cover for them... Where's Quinn? With you? Great. Did she get ahold of Mr. Reese? No?"

"I got it," I say, and Zoey nods her assent.

"Oh, that's our new friend, Lacey Spencer," Zoey says as I dial Malcolm Reese's cell phone number. "Calm down! She has history with the Reese family, Chase. It's fine."

"Mr. Reese," I say when he picks up.

"Lacey!" he says, obviously pleased to hear from me. "Good to hear from you! Did you get to campus yet today?"

"Yes, got here just fine. Standing here with my new friends—Zoey Brooks and her brother Dustin, and Lola Martinez."

"Ah, you're fitting right in," he compliments. "Have you been to—"

"Mr. Reese, I'm sorry, but there's been an accident," I say before I can stop myself from being gentle with him.

"Logan's being treated at Mercy Hospital," Zoey states as we walk. "Can we take your car? I walked over here..."

"Sure, no problem," I tell her.

"What kind of accident?!" Mr. Reese demands.

"Jet ski," I reply. "Chase and Michael were with Logan when it happened. They're at Mercy Hospital in Santa Monica," I say as we all reach the parking lot and pile into my car, me and Zoey in the front. "We'll meet you there," I say breathlessly as I pull out of the parking lot and onto Pacific Coast Highway.


	2. Here We Go Again

Chapter Two: Here We Go Again

Part of me thinks that speeding along the highway is a good way to go, but Zoey tells me to go the speed limit to arrive at the hospital in one piece, and the rational part of me that still lingered in my subconscious agreed with her. As we drove, I couldn't help but think of Logan, and, despite our differences, knew that it would be worse for everyone if he wasn't around. I mean, he was a jerk, no doubt about it, but everyone needed a jerk in their lives, didn't they?

Satisfied when Lola and Dustin agreed with Zoey about the speed limit, I did my best to stay constantly at forty-five miles per hour. After about fifteen minutes of driving, we pull off the correct exit in the heart of Santa Monica, and gradually find our way to the massive hospital parking lot—a lot larger than PCA's. Pulling in close to the emergency entrance, and finding a parking space nearby, we quickly pile out of the car and I lock it automatically as we dash towards the entrance of the place, two glass doors waiting for us. Pushing our way inside, we go up to the front desk, Zoey taking the lead.

"Hi, we're here to see Logan Reese," she says promptly.

The woman gives Zoey a stern look. "Are you family?"

"Well..." Zoey begins.

"She's not, but I am—family," I reply, still wearing my sunglasses from the drive. "Logan Reese is my cousin."

The receptionist gives me a critical look. "And you are?" the woman asks.

"Sorry—where are you?" I ask her, reaching out and attempting to reach her hand in a desperate ploy to pretend that I was blind. "I lost my sight when I was just a little girl..."

"Oh," the woman says, immediately swayed.

"Logan's my cousin," I say, my tone filled with desperation. "And this," I say, indicating Lola with a general movement in her direction, "is my guardian. They," I say, motioning to Zoey and Dustin, "are doing a work study program on me for class. It is detrimental that they're kept with me, ma'am," I say, blatantly ignoring her nametag which read LAURA. "Please... Can we know where Logan is?"

Laura immediately looks humbled at this plight, and directly types information into her desktop computer. "Sure—it's room 125."

"Thank you," I say, reaching out for Lola and Zoey's hands, and they immediately grab onto me and pull me from the room. Once we are out of sight of the desk, I let them go and whip off my sunglasses, angling them upwards and into my nest of hair. "That was painless enough," I say, tossing my hair, and quickly making a grab for my sunglasses so as they didn't go flying off my head and across the room.

"Good going, saying that!" Dustin says, rushing ahead.

"Yeah, nice going," Zoey compliments, walking ahead to catch up with Dustin as he's ultimately sidetracked by an ice cream machine.

"How in the world did you come up with that lie so fast?" Lola asks as we begin walking after Zoey and Dustin.

I sigh, forcing a smile. "I could say I took a lot of improv classes, which I did, but it's more complicated than that..."

"How could it be complicated?"

I shake my head, not wanting to burden her with information about my past, although it was more than that, really. "Not important."

Lola pursed her lips. "Lacey, if we're going to be roommates and friends, we really shouldn't keep any secrets from each other."

I raise my eyebrows at her. "Okay. Tell me a secret."

"I used to have a crush on Chase."

I stop Lola from walking. "What?" I demand.

She nods. "Yeah."

I shake my head. "Other people have to know that..."

"Just my friends, and you..."

I shake my head again, walking past her towards Logan's hospital room. "Yeah, unless you have an honest-to-god one, I'm not biting."

"Mark del Figgalo is the worst kisser at PCA!" she cries.

Immediately, I turn around. "Who in the what and where was I?!" I demand.

"Mark del Figgalo is Quinn's ex-boyfriend," Lola said quietly, her dark eyes looking around to make sure that nobody was listening. "Once, Quinn wouldn't stop laughing, so to cure her, I kissed Mark. It was the single worst experience of my life..."

I sigh. "Well, if _that_ was the worst experience in your entire life, then you really don't want to hear this..."

Lola positions herself between me and the next hall over, so that I am unable to get past her to get to Logan's room. "Try me."

I roll my eyes. "You'll regret it."

She crosses her arms. "Somehow, I doubt that."

I groan. "Fine!" I grumble, crossing my arms. "My grandfather, John Spencer, wasn't always happy with his wife, my grandmother, Rosalita, because she had a lot of boyfriends—even after they were married."

"That's so mean!" Lola cries.

I scoff then, annoyed. "Hey, sometimes generational marriageable habits differ from modern-day ones!" I say stoutly. "Don't judge!"

"Sorry," Lola says quickly.

I shrug. "It's fine. So, anyhow, Grandpa John always considered seeing other women, but it never dawned on him to do so until he met Jacqueline Morris," I tell her.

"Oh, here we go..." Lola says.

I nod. "Exactly. Now, she was married already, but her husband was always away on business, and he had quite a few girlfriends, too. So, because they were on neighboring estates, Grandpa John and Jacqueline became really good friends..."

"I see where this is going..."

"You'd be right," I declare. "Then, one day, Jacqueline told Grandpa John that she was pregnant and so she decided to put the baby up for adoption, under her husband's strict orders, because they had other children already. He threatened her with divorce _and_ that he would make sure that she never saw their other children again, so, naturally, it was the only conceivable route to go when it came right down to it. That child, the one Jacqueline was forced to give up, was adopted by the wealthy Reese family, and..."

"And that was Malcolm Reese, Logan's dad?"

I nod. "Yeah."

"So, you and Logan really are cousins?"

"'Fraid so," I reply.

"Wow."

"Wow is right..."

"So, who knows?"

"Well, Grandpa John, Jacqueline, Jacqueline's husband, and my Grandma Rosalita are all deceased. My dad and Malcolm found out in college when they were roommates and thought that they shared some similarities. After my grandmother died, my grandfather told them the truth. Malcolm Reese's family was so wealthy that he didn't sue for any of the fortune, and he and my dad became best friends soon after that with Dean Rivers. So, my dad knows, Malcolm knows, and I know," I tell her.

"But why did you call Mr. Reese 'Mr. Reese'?" she asks. "If you know..."

"He doesn't know that I know, and he hasn't told Logan either, which has made for some awkward moments..."

"How awkward?"

I scoff at that. "Let's see—I'm not altogether unappealing and Logan and I spent a fair amount of time together over the years."

"I thought you said you moved to France when you were eleven..."

"I did, but he and I did traveling over the years. I came back when I was thirteen and then again when I was fifteen."

"Did Logan ever go to France?" Lola wanted to know.

"Yeah. He came when we were fourteen and sixteen."

"When did your dad tell you that you were family?"

I smirk at the memory. "Well, he thought it was probably a good idea after he caught us kissing when we were sixteen," I reply.

"I thought you said you hated Logan," Lola said, looking utterly disgusted at the notion that I'd kissed Logan, rather than the obvious one that he and I, were, in fact, cousins.

"Well, for one thing, I thought Logan knew, until my father told me to the contrary after the aforementioned kiss," I say, sighing, feeling my shoulders automatically rolling. "Anyhow, Logan's the one who kissed me. My father caught me in the moment of shock before I shoved him away and hit him for touching me."

"But Logan didn't know..."

"Which I didn't figure out until later."

"So, please explain to me why Logan didn't know that you were cousins," Lola asked, stepping out of the way so that we could finish our walk to his hospital room—more like a penthouse suite, if he had his way.

"My dad and Malcolm pretty much always said that either Logan would freak out and go on a shopping spree or that he'd do something reckless or that he'd demand some of the family money... I don't know. I do know, however, that whenever Logan and I would chat on Skype last summer that Quinn would get suspicious of me, why I don't know..."

"Uh, because you're hot?" Lola says then, sticking me with an, _'Are you being completely crazy, right now?!'_ expression.

I scoff at her comment. "Uh, no," I say, brushing past her.

Lola promptly takes out her pocket mirror from her jean shorts pocket, pops it open, and holds it up in front of my face, reflecting me in its glass pane. "Come _on_ , Lacey, really." She waved it in front of me. "Tell me what you see."

"A girl with black hair in a ponytail, and not much else..."

"Hello?! Your eyes are _purple_!" Lola cries.

I scoff again. "So?!"

"So?! That's extremely rare, isn't it?"

I roll them, and snap Lola's hand mirror shut, growing exasperated with her thoughts towards me and my subpar physical appearance. "Got them from my mom," I reply, brushing past her and making my way towards room 125. I step inside then, Lola at my heels, and Logan immediately sits up in bed.

"My dad send you?" he asks, looking confused.

"For goodness sake, Logan, sit back!" Quinn demands, narrowing her eyes at him in impatience, although I expect some of that had to be directed at me and my presence. "The doctor said no sudden movements."

He sighs impatiently and turns to the tallest guy in the room. "Michael, will you fix my pillows, please?" he asks.

Michael sighs in annoyance but quickly smacks Logan's pillows into a more upward position, where he could be more comfortable. "Happy now?" he says. "I had to cancel my date with Lisa tonight, you know..."

"Call her," Quinn says, smiling at Michael. "Have her come here. Looks like everyone else thought they had an invitation."

Clearly another jab at me, I decide to ignore it and make myself useful as Michael breezes past me and out of the room, phone to his ear. "I called your dad and he's coming," I say gently to Logan before picking up the empty ice bucket. "I know you're a big fan of ice so why don't I just re-fill this for you?"

" _I'll_ do it," Quinn says, narrowing her eyes at me and stepping forward. "I know all about Logan's likes and dislikes."

"No need, it's fine, really," I say, smiling at her and spinning around, walking out of there and down the other end of the hall, where the ice station is.

"You certainly know your way around," Quinn says from behind me.

I sigh, not wanting a pity party, but deciding to be honest as I proceed to fill up the ice into Logan's room bucket. "My mother received her chemotherapy here," I tell her quietly from over my shoulder. "With my dad's job taking him out of the country so much, and with them not wanting me to miss a lot of school, and it being so convenient, I would tour the hospital in my spare time. After doing my homework, I would sit in Dr. Lincoln's office and read medical textbooks for fun. I even considered being an oncologist, except with children, because I wanted to make my mother well again. Didn't work, though," I say, finishing filling the bucket and picking it up. "She still passed away."

"I'm sorry about your mom," Quinn says, humility passing through her lips since the first time she'd met me the summer before, on my return to Malibu, after she had come to visit Logan from Seattle, and I remembered how stand-offish she had been. "Look, I'm sorry if I seemed at all rude before, Lacey, really. It's just..."

I smiled at her in understanding. "Hey, Logan is Logan. If you've known him for as long as I have, you know what I mean."

"I met him when I was thirteen, and we didn't get along for a while..."

"I was... I don't even remember," I confess. "Our dads are best friends, and since I lost my mom, my dad wanted my life to be as normal as possible. He wanted me to come back and live here as soon as PCA was open for girls, but I decided to stay in France with him—just couldn't let go of another parent, you know?"

Quinn nods, just beginning to put the pieces of the puzzle together, her jealousy seeming to fade away entirely. "I understand."

"I was at another really good school and I had friends there, so I just decided to wait until his assignment was over."

"So, you're really not into Logan?"

"Into Logan?! Wow," I say, laughing before I could stop myself. "I'm not into Logan—far from it, Quinn, really. I promise," I reply. "He and I are... Well, we're family. It's not like it'd be very appropriate, now would it?"

"Family?" Quinn asks, looking me over. "But..."

"You should see our dads," I joke. I take out my phone then and call up my dad's contact photo, and Quinn's eyes pop.

" _That's_ your dad?!" she cries, shocked.

"Cross my heart," I reply, putting my phone back into my pocket and walking back towards Logan's room. "He would mainly just say goodbye to me and go hang out with Logan's dad before someone would inevitably call him and he'd be on his way."

"So, wait a minute..." Quinn says, running after me, her face shocked. "If your dad and Logan's dad look alike..." Quinn stops me from turning the final corner before Logan's room. "They're not... They're not brothers, are they?"

"Half-brothers—they had the same dad," I tell her. "Logan's dad was adopted at birth by the Reese family. My grandfather—I guess Logan's grandfather, too—had an affair and so Malcolm Reese was born because of that affair. Then, Malcolm got adopted and he and my dad didn't meet until college. They were roommates with Dean Rivers so that's how I got a space at school so quickly. And that's why you may see me with Logan from time to time. So, it's not me you have to worry about, I promise."

"Then why did he kiss you?" Quinn demands.

I sighed, slightly annoyed that she knew about that. "At the time, I didn't know—we were sixteen, and the topic of conversation was awkward enough for my dad, especially after my mom died. So, my dad told me, but Malcolm won't tell Logan."

"Why won't Malcolm tell Logan?"

"He says that Logan isn't emotionally ready to handle something like that. He thinks Logan will freak out or something..."

Quinn sighs, nodding. "Well, I respect Malcolm's decision—he's a really nice guy. So, I won't bring it up."

"Thanks," I reply, "I appreciate it."

. . .

Zoey decides to go back to the condo with Chase, while Michael leaves shortly thereafter to attempt to salvage his date with Lisa. I offer to bring Dustin back with Lola and me, but he runs after Michael, likely hoping to catch a ride. Quinn tells us she's going to stay with Logan that night, as the doctor gave her permission, and Logan was going to leave the following day and be all set for school on Monday.

Zoey and Chase were going to stop by to bring them changes of clothes, while Lola and I offered to bring breakfast, which was eagerly accepted by Logan, but Quinn stated that she could take care of it, and we shared a second smile. Lola and I leave the hospital room and make our way back down the hall; peeking around the corner, a different receptionist is working, so we're able to slip out of there unscathed.

It is then that Malcolm charges forward from his luxury car immediately as Lola and I step outside into the bright sunlight. "Lacey!" Malcolm says, pulling me immediately into a hug. "Is Logan all right?"

"He's fine, Malcolm," I reply.

Malcom pulls back and regards Lola. "Um..."

"Don't worry, I know," Lola says, smiling at him. "And, don't worry, Mr. Reese, I'm keeping my mouth shut."

He sighs at that, running a hand through his expensive haircut. "All you kids are almost eighteen now—call me Malcolm."

"Thanks, Malcolm," Lola replies.

"Logan...?" he asks, turning back to me.

"He's been given permission to leave tomorrow," I inform him. "He'll be a little sore, but the worst is over. He's prescribed some antibiotics, so he'll be fine. He's got that beast of a car you bought him, so it's not like he's got to hurry to catch a bus every day."

Malcolm chuckles. "Right. Well, I'd better go in and see him now." He pulls me in, kissing my forehead briefly before stepping inside the hospital before turning around halfway. "Good seeing you, Lacey! You too, Lola!" he calls over his shoulder.

Lola raises her eyebrows at me briefly as the two of us continue our walk into the emergency section of the hospital parking lot. I unlock my car automatically and she slips into the passenger seat, and I pull out of the lot and back through the main streets of Santa Monica before heading back to the Pacific Coast Highway. Lola and I are silent for a time, but, of course, with two teenagers who have only known each other for less than two hours, there would prove to be so many unanswered questions.

"Should we have lunch?" I ask, halfway turning to Lola but still keeping my eyes firmly on the highway in front of us.

She nods. "Sure." When her phone buzzes a moment later, she takes it out, a smile crossing her face as she reads the message. A small giggle passes through her lips then as she automatically types a reply.

"Vince?" I ask her, nodding at her phone.

"Oh, yeah," she replies, tucking a bit of hair behind her ear and returning her phone to her pocket. "Just checking up on me."

"He back yet?"

"No, not yet. He was off touring at some East Coast college's, so he won't be back until tomorrow afternoon," she says softly.

"Trying to go to college in the same state?" I guess.

Lola nods. "I'm from New York originally, so of course it'd be nice for the both of us to go in my hometown."

"Have you met each other's parents?" I ask.

She smiles. "Yeah, last summer. Vince actually tutored the kids with me in New York, and he stayed in my family's guest house over the summer. We came back here a few weeks before school started, and after my tutoring had ended, and that's when I met his family. Then, I went back home after staying with his family for a while, and we went on to do some college tours separately."

"Any particular reasoning behind the separation?"

She shakes her head at that. "No, it all depended upon what worked within our respective schedules," she explains. "I was allowed to tutor some extra kids at the end of the summer for some good money, so I stayed at home and auditioned at Julliard and NYU while I waited to come back here."

"Sounds like you enjoy productivity," I reply.

Lola laughs. "Yeah, I guess so."

We continue on the freeway in the next few minutes before getting off at the PCA exit, which ultimately leads us to the parking lot. I pull into the correct parking lot and find my assigned parking space for the second time that day. Lola and I get out of the car and make our way Zanaro's Trattoria, ready and waiting to dine on some Italian fare.

. . .

Lola and I did our best to wake up extra early the following day to get dressed for our auditions later that morning. Zoey had group texted us the night before, telling us that she would meet us in front of the Coffee Cart in half an hour. I pulled on a pair of jean shorts, a short-sleeved pink T-shirt with the words GOBAMA, NO DRAMA written across it, and a zip-up sweater in dark green. I slip on my black Converse sneakers next, my ankle socks going appropriately with the rest of my outfit. I grab my phone and use the PCA map app to figure out how far away the Coffee Cart is from our dorm room.

"Should we take our Jet-X's to the Coffee Cart?" I ask Lola.

Lola lowers the blouse she'd intended to wear that morning and turns to look at me; she is dressed in her typical skinny jeans and a pale-yellow camisole as she looks at me, shocked. "You have a Jet-X?"

I nod. "Sure do."

"But...you have a car..."

"This is just for on-campus only," I reply. "It's a rental, but I rode it around a lot yesterday and already told my dad, so technically, once the check gets put into the system and clears, it'll be mine—formally, that is."

"What color?" Lola asks.

"Hunter green," I reply, "my favorite."

Lola claps her hands. "Nice! Mine's purple," she tells me, finishing getting dressed and slipping into her open-toed sandals. "Ready to get some coffee?"

I laugh. "Well, in all honesty, I'll probably just get one of those frozen blended things everyone's going on about," I reply.

Lola laughs. "I think they're called a Frappuccino..." Her phone vibrates then, and she gets it out of her pants' pocket, inspecting it for a moment. "Zoey's just texted me—she'll be at the Coffee Cart any minute."

"Cool," I reply, unplugging my phone from its charger and pocketing it, ready for the day ahead —physically, anyway.

Lola and I head out of our dorm before making our way to the storage locker for senior students near the entrance of the building, where our Jet-X's are kept. We stand in the doorway area, and type in the password, therefore giving us access to the space before the doors open, and the lights immediately beam on, thus allowing us to see the entire room. We find our assigned section—and I notice that other large things are kept in here, including surf and snowboards, as well as some canoe-like boats. When we find our section, each pull out our sleek vehicles, navigating them out of the double doors of the locker area and Fulton Hall and out onto the quad. Turning the keys in the ignitions, we press the gas pedals and make our way around the other students walking around at this early hour, many of them lugging their belongings, just getting to PCA since their summer vacation ended.

When we reach the coffee cart on the other side of campus, Lola and park our Jet-X's in the other, massive bike rack kitty-corner from the cart and take off our helmets as a horn sounds from behind us. Turning, we can see Zoey driving up, her pink Jet-X glinting in the early morning sunlight as she navigates her way towards us. She parks on the opposite side of Lola's Jet-X and embraces Lola before hugging me as well.

"Morning," she says, looking at us both. "How's everything?"

"Pretty good," Lola replies. "I think the caffeine should help in keeping us awake in preparation for the audition."

"Sounds awesome," Zoey puts in. "You doing okay, Lacey?"

I nod. "Yeah, thanks," I reply. "How are you?"

"Chase tried to keep me up half the night talking about how worried he is for Logan and his accident," she says, a gentle annoyance behind her tone as we cross the quad and go up to the coffee cart. "I think this should help my headache..." She goes up to the proprietor of the place and says politely, "An iced coffee with vanilla syrup, please," and smiles at the man—he looks like a senior of Asian descent.

"Coming right up, Zoey," he says. "What size can I get for you?"

"A medium, please," she replies.

"Hi," the guy says, turning to Lola. "Still with Vince?"

Lola rolls her eyes at him. "Yes," she says, annoyed. "And I'll have a medium iced chai latte, please," she says.

"No problem, Lola," the man says, with a hint of disappointment in his voice before he turns to me. "And for you...?"

"I'm Lacey, nice to meet you," I say, smiling at him before taking a cursory glance at the menu above me. "I'll have a medium vanilla crème Frappuccino, please."

"Coming right up, Lacey," he says, going over to his ice chest and filling up various medium cups with syrup, ice, and everything else one would think you needed to make a blended drink in this day and age.

"That's Calvin," Lola mutters to me as we move aside so that he can service more customers, who have gathered behind us.

"He's had a thing for Lola, like, forever," Zoey tells me.

I laugh. "Somehow, I got that."

Lola groans at that. "Ugh, just don't remind me about it constantly, like Logan does," and checks her phone. "Oh! It's Vince!" she cries, answering the call. "Hi, baby!" she says, stepping away from us.

"Funny that Calvin has a thing for Lola," Zoey muses.

"Why?" I ask.

"Well, Vince—Lola's boyfriend—used to be this pro-sports, loud-mouthed bully that cheated on a test," she tells me quietly. "Chase ended up catching him and reported it to the teacher, and, thankfully, Vince didn't delete the pictures off his cell phone before Chase turned him in. You'd think that would've been the end of it..."

"I'm guessing it wasn't?" I guess.

Zoey shakes her head. "Not by a long-shot—Vince was angry about it and got in trouble, so he beat up Chase, Michael, Logan, and Mark because of it. Then, Vince got expelled."

"How do you go from a jerk to someone that Lola's into?" I ask, looking up at Lola, who is laughing at something Vince has said.

Zoey sighs. "Love is strange," she replies, "and Dean Rivers mentioned that Vince got some halfway-decent therapy, so that's something."

"Zoey!" Calvin calls from behind us. "I have your drinks."

Zoey puts her hand out as I step forward to pay for mine. "I've got this," she says and steps away from me and up to the coffee cart, taking the lanyard from around her neck and handing it over to Calvin to scan. "Thanks so much," she says, once the purchase has gone through and her lanyard is returned to her and takes the to-go tray of our drinks and moves to stand beside me. "Here you go," she says, handing over my drink with a flourish.

"Thank you," I say, taking my drink and sipping it as Lola begins wrapping up her phone call with Vince.

"Okay, I love you, too. I'll see you in a few. Bye!" She hangs up before turning and returning to our sides. "Thanks, Zo!" she says, taking her drink.

"The theater is just down that way—about two or three minutes away," Zoey explains to me. "If our Jet-X's are locked securely, we can leave them here until lunch."

"And we can go try out the new sandwich shop in the new co-ed lounge!" Lola suggests with enthusiasm. "It's called Triple S, because they serve soups, sandwiches, and salads."

"Sounds great!" Zoey says.

I nodded. "Count me in," I reply.

We sip our drinks and turn around the bend of the next building just ahead and, in the distance, see a small crowd gathering around the entrance of the theater. It is close to eight-thirty, so we still have plenty of time, I think to myself as we all three step closer. Lola and Zoey wave to Vince and Chase respectively, and we both move to join them. Michael and who I assume is Lisa approach soon thereafter and I find I am surrounded by peers.

"Sorry I had to rush out so fast yesterday," Michael says, shaking my hand. "I just had to make sure my Little Lisa wasn't alone that night."

"Please, I can survive alone," Lisa says with a laugh as she turned to me. "Logan's told me a lot about you, Lacey—good to finally meet you and put a face to the stories."

"I hope that's a compliment," I reply with a smile as I shake her hand in the next moment when my anxiety finally disappears. "Thank you, Lisa. The feeling's mutual."

"Heard any rumors about the play?" Zoey asks Chase. "Chase actually wrote a show in our eighth-grade year."

"Honestly, Zo, you must know that it was all just a ploy on Chase's part to try and get a stage kiss with you," Michael puts in, and Lisa smacks him gently.

"Michael!" she cries out.

"Somehow, I figured that out," Zoey replies, smirking at Chase.

"That was until Logan stepped on my toes," Chase mutters. "But what I do know is this, and it's the first clue, and it's only given to a handful of people, and we're allowed to tell a minimum of five and a maximum of ten people, and we're six, so our group is perfect."

"Tell us!" Lola cries.

"Wait!" Quinn calls from afar as she runs into our area, with Logan at her heels. "I forced him into this, believe me..."

"Quinn thinks our relationship needs more...artsy stuff," Logan says.

"Should you be out of the hospital so soon?" Zoey asks.

"Yeah—you were banged up pretty bad..." Chase puts in.

Logan shakes his head at their concern. "No, I'm fine. Besides, I think conditioning for this will be a good idea."

Quinn makes a face. "Baby, it's _auditioning_."

"What is?" Logan asks.

"No, baby. The word isn't conditioning, it's auditioning," Quinn tells him, a pained expression on her face.

"Oh, yeah, right. That." He laughs, throwing an arm around Quinn. "Come on, Chase, give us the clue!" he shouts.

I roll my eyes. "Here we go again," I mutter.

"Okay!" Chase says. "It's a classic literature book," he continues. "Classic lit book with a female author..."

"Jane Austen!" I cry out.

Chase smiles at me, nodding. "Right! That's the first part of the clue," he says. "But it's a modern musical adaptation."

"Well, it _has_ to be _Pride and Prejudice_ ," Quinn says.

Chase nods. "Right. It's called _Prideful Prejudice_."

"Hey," says a voice, and Zoey looks up, looking visibly shaken at the person its connected to, and I find myself wondering why. "What's going on everyone?"

"Hey," Chase says, smiling in a friendly manner. "Good to see you, man—I'm so glad you're doing this."

Turning around then, I see a drop-dead gorgeous specimen—blonde hair, perfect lips, sparkling blue eyes... This had to be—

"Sorry, I don't believe we've met," he says, putting out his perfectly tanned hand with equally perfect trimmed fingernails. "James Garrett."

"Lacey Spencer," I reply, shaking his hand.

"Lacey!" comes an almost-shouting voice from somewhere behind me and, when I finally turn, I see _him_.

"Hey, Lance," I say, when suddenly his arms are around me and he's kissing me like there's no tomorrow. "Lance!" I cry, attempting to wriggle out of his grip and failing.

"Lance, what are you doing here?!" Zoey demands.

"And why are you kissing Lacey?!" Lola yelled.

"You guys know Lance, too?" I demand, managing to get out of his grip.

Zoey sighs, crossing her arms immediately at the thought of knowing Lance. "Yeah. We went out sophomore year for a month or two..."

"Ancient history," Lance says, putting a rather possessive arm around me which makes my skin crawl as he looks at all my new friends. "I see you're fitting in with the in-crowd, Lacey; not that I'd expect anything less."

"How do you know Lance?" Lola asks.

"Well, our dads are best friends, which you knew..." I say lamely.

"Well, the _real_ story is that I was in Africa with her last summer," Lance tells them all quickly, and I try and fail to plaster a smile on my lips. "She was so impressed at how I was with all those poor little orphans that she told me so."

"Did you?" Zoey asks.

"I might've mentioned it," I say quietly.

"Well, anyhow, I asked her out. It's our six-week anniversary."

"You said you weren't seeing anyone," Lola puts in.

"Actually, she said in France," Zoey put in, pursing her lips and regarding Lance with a suspicious look. "I've got my eye on you," she says as the theater doors open, and she walks in, pulling Chase after her.

"No kidding," Lola says, pulling Vince after her.

"Twenty-four, seven, Rivers," Michael proclaims, taking Lisa's hand and walking with her into the theater.

"I'll never sleep," Logan practically spits.

"I'll sleep with one eye open," Quinn says, allowing Logan to put an arm around her as they head into the theater.

James smiles. "Welcome to PCA," he says, his tone awkward and slightly uncomfortable as he moves to follow Quinn and Logan.

I sigh and shake my head. "Welcome indeed," I say, feeling like I'm suffocating under Lance's arm as we head inside together.

We each take some of the theater-style chairs and wait for something to happen, all the while Barry and Joan make their way around, checking sound and lighting for various exercises they said that they were going to do with us, while we're instructed to take hand-outs placed at an angle on a wooden stool. The paper is a bright orange color, yet it feels heavy in my hands, so I know they spend good money on paper products. Barry and Joan then head into the sound booth for a final check-over, when suddenly, the door opens behind us.

"Chase, look," Zoey says quietly, putting a hand on his arm and nodding in the direction of the theater doors.

"Who is that?" I ask, nodding at the girl with the dark hair who had just entered the room and looks very sure of herself.

"That's...well..." Chase begins, but the girl snaps her head in our direction at the sound of his voice and grins, waving.

"Hi, Chase!" she says, running up to us all. "Oh, Zoey!" she says, looking down at their hands, clasped. "Oh, you two are _finally_ together! That's so nice!"

I raise my eyebrows at this turn of events, especially when everyone around me mutually groans slightly and covers their faces with their hands, except Lance, who has the decency to look confused, and James, who is carefully studying the bright orange hand-out we've all been provided with. "Hi," I say.

"Hi!" the girl says, putting out her hand. "Rebecca. Rebecca Martin."

I shake her hand, amid Zoey's look of disgust. "So, you're Rebecca?" I say, hoping that my voice sounds casual.

"Yeah, that's me," she replies sweetly, turning to look at Zoey and Chase. "And may I just say, from the bottom of my heart, how sorry I am for taking your balloon and blackmailing you with your secrets?"

Zoey fixes Rebecca with an annoyed and tempestuous look. "And for telling me to stay away from Chase?" she demands.

"Of course," Rebecca says, giving her a sympathetic smile. "You see, the thing is, my family was going through a long, messy divorce," she explains, biting her shiny, pink lip-gloss covered lip as she explains her situation, her voice shaking a little for good measure. "I guess you could say I was feeling threatened; it happened just after Chase and I got to PCA two years ago, and it went on and on and so I just lashed out. I know it's not an excuse, but it is what it is. And the straw that broke the camel's back was when I was blackmailing you..."

"Which you got expelled for!" Lola fires at her.

"Hey," Vince says as he gently takes Lola's hand, "forgiveness. For all you know, she's reformed herself, just like I did."

I lean back in my chair, calmly observing the situation. "Well, I hope things are looking up for you now, Rebecca," I say, inwardly groaning as I watch Lance lean back, his motions matching mine, like a dance.

He keeps his arm firmly around my shoulders. "Yeah, Rebecca—I mean, if my dad let you back in here, you can't be all bad, right?"

Zoey, Chase, Lola, Vince, Quinn, Logan, Michael, Lisa all turn simultaneously to look at Vince and look aghast at his words. I do the same—sure, I wanted these people to like me, but they hadn't proved to be unabashedly annoying at the best of times. I wanted to smack him for taking Rebecca's side in this; sure, he and I were technically dating—mainly because it's what my father wanted, and there was no way I was going to let him down—but still.

"Yeah," I say, keeping my tone strictly non-committal as I turned back to Rebecca with a tight smile. "Best of luck with everything."

"Thank you!" she crows, turning, taking an orange handout, and mercifully crossing the room, away from us.

"Civil," Zoey says quietly to me.

"Hey, I don't want a war, but I am on your side," I say back.

She nods. "Well, we're all adults here," she replies. "As long as you're on my side in the situation, I guess it's all I can ask for."


End file.
